


The Child

by geekyjez



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Old God Baby - Freeform, The Dark Ritual, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fic. After taking from the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan fears for her safety - and that of her son Kieran. She seeks out the King of Ferelden in the hopes that he might be willing to aid the son he’s never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Child

_She is waiting._   
_Blood of the Goddess in your veins._   
_She lives on. She endures._   
_The child. The child._   
_Go. Follow. Mythal calls to you._   
_It is your birth rite, Daughter of Dragons._

Morrigan steadied herself, closing her eyes to try and stop the incessant whispering. It was not a sound she could hear like a thought, but an echo resonating deep within her bones. An inescapable scraping that formed words and consciousness. The ever-present feeling that Flemeth was watching her, creeping behind the dark corners of her thoughts, guiding her mind until she questioned whether her ideas and actions were even her own anymore.

She never should have taken from the Well.

Her eyes scanned the room, remarking on how things had changed since the last time she was here. The bones of the room were the same, but none of the trappings. It was no longer a space for sleeping. The bed was gone. A broad and sturdy desk now sat centered in front of the wide arc of the fireplace. The table that once resided in the corner was now replaced by a bookcase. She found it curious that he would choose this room as his private study. It held little significance, outside of it having once served as Myra’s quarters before the final battle. The last time Morrigan had been here, it was to convince the Warden to let her perform the ritual with Alistair. She knew it would be useless to go to him directly. Despite his desire not to see her die, he would have deferred to her judgment on the matter. She needed Myra’s help to convince him to go through with it.

_“This is why I saved the man and not the woman alone.” Flemeth had said coolly as her daughter packed her belongings. “That is the purpose he will serve.”_

Morrigan had hated the idea from the start and it had tainted every word she shared with the idiot. She knew what was at stake, however. There would only be one chance to preserve the soul of an Old God. Flemeth had put all of the pieces into place. All Morrigan had to do was use her body as a vessel for the child.

She cared little about the sexual nature of the act. Sex was something that made men stupid slobbering dogs and caused women to sob over some notion that romantic love was to be everlasting and pure. Knowing Alistair, she honestly expected the latter from him. But he served his purpose. He did what he had to do to save Myra. The act was relatively quick, though not as swift as Morrigan would have liked. He had some difficulties given their circumstances, but she knew enough about male physiology to elicit the response she required. She did not mind that he kept his eyes closed. Though she found his grimacing unnecessary, it was preferable to having him look at her. He said nothing when it was finished – merely dressed himself and left, presumably to return to his betrothed and reassure himself that Myra was not hurt by what they had just done. He avoided Morrigan during the final battle, wordlessly diverting his gaze. She took no offense. It suited her preferences.

As much as she hated doing her mother’s bidding, as much as she loathed the idea of conceiving a child with Alistair – the birth of Kieran made up for all of that. It never tainted her feelings towards him. He was her son, the bright light in the gloomy darkness from which he had been created. He meant the world to her and she would do anything to protect him.

Even if that meant speaking to the idiot again.

She heard the door open behind her and turned her gaze from the fireplace. He was halfway through the entryway before he caught sight of her, freezing in place, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“How did you get in here?” He snapped.

“Does it surprise you that your guards are rather useless in that respect?” She asked, turning to face him. “I go where I please, Alistair.”

“That’s King Alistair to you.”

She could not keep from grinning, her brow lifting. “If that is how you wish to be addressed, then you will have to get used to disappointment.”   

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing in suspicion before closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here, Morrigan?”

She hesitated, steeling herself. It was not a common thing for her to ask for help. It was not something she was comfortable with, especially from him. She searched for words, but it was best kept simple. Straightforward. “There have been a few recent complications. Unfortunately I find myself in need of your assistance.”

“ _You_ need _my_ help?” He asked, crossing his arms. “You can’t just swoop in here and expect me to-” Morrigan scoffed. He looked at her, puzzled for a moment before his face twisted into a scowl. “You know what I meant.”

“It concerns Flemeth.”

His confusion deepened. “Flemeth? She’s been dead ten years. What could possibly-”

“I assure you, she is quite alive.”

He shook his head. “No. No, that can’t be right. I was there. We killed her. Big dragon and everything. Not the sort of thing you just forget.”

“It was her desire for me to believe that she was deceased. Knowing her, she never intended to win that fight. She would not kill you. It would have disrupted her plans.”

Alistair let out a slow sigh, rubbing his brow roughly. “You witches, I swear to the Maker…” He lifted his gaze again. “And what do you expect me to do about this… _whatever_ this is involving Flemeth? I kind of have a country to run now, if you hadn’t noticed. The stories have it all wrong. Whoever came up with this notion that Kingship involved a lot of sitting around and being lavished on by your doting public should be slapped. I can’t just drop what I’m doing simply because-”

“This is about your son.”

That quieted him. He stilled, staring at her. His face, usually displaying his emotions as plainly as if spoken aloud, was strangely indescribable. His lips parted to speak, but he stopped, thinking. “It was a boy.” He said quietly.

She nodded. “His name is Kieran.”

Alistair repeated the name to himself, his gaze drifting down and then back again. “Is he—”

“He is nearby,” she said. “Safe for now, but I hesitate to leave him alone for long.”

“I see.”

“I am concerned for his… for _our_ safety.” She corrected. “My mother has shown a recent interest in the boy and her influence over me is…” she paused, searching for the right word. “It is troubling.” She should leave it at that. She could not envision trying to explain the revelation that her mother was an ancient Elven goddess that she had unknowingly bound herself to. She could already envision his eyes glazing over in stupefied confusion at the prospect.

“I have spent the last few years serving Empress Celene.” She continued. “I propose no such partnership on our behalf, unless you deem it necessary. However frivolous life at court is, I find it provides certain comforts and resources that would benefit both myself and Kieran at this time.”

“So why not scamper back to Orlais?”

“Was I wrong in assuming the child’s father would care more for his well-being than those who are simply playing the Game?”

“That’s not fair.” He said with a sneer. “You made it clear even before we…” He flustered at the word. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Was he truly so childish he would not give voice to the act? “You said that I was to have nothing to do with him. That you did not want the child to have a father.”

“That I did.”

“Does he know?”

“He does not know that his father is the King of Ferelden, if that is what you are asking. You have no reason to fear for a claim upon your throne.”

“I don’t care about that.” He said, frowning. “Have you told him anything about me?”

“Only that his father was a good man.” He seemed surprised at that, his features softening. “I imagined you deserved as much.”

His lips spread into the hint of a smile, laughing softly. “Even if you don’t believe that.”

“I do not have to like you to see you have valuable qualities.”

His laughter brightened. “Did Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds just give me a compliment? Surely next the Maker will grace us with an appearance.”

“Don’t be absurd.” She said, though her tone was decidedly softer than it would have been in years past. “I am not quite the viper I used to be, Alistair.”

Silence fell between them. He was clearly thinking the matter over. “If the two of you were to stay here, would he…” Another pause. “Would you tell him? Would you have him know that I’m his father?”

“If that is your preference.” She said quietly. “Though I would guard that information carefully, given your lack of a proper heir.”

“Yes, well.” He said sadly. “That isn’t likely to change anytime soon.”

“Have you heard nothing from her?”

There was a quiet sadness in his look, one of prolonged longing and accepted loneliness. “I receive word, from time to time. Sometimes months go between her letters… sometimes years.”

“But she is well?”

His lips parted to speak, but his words fled him. He diverted his gaze, looking into the fireplace. “She and I will both be better when she can come home.”

“I’m certain she feels as you do.” He did not look up, but she saw the corner of his lip subtly shift.

“Kieran, does he… Does he look like me?”

“He does have your eyes.”

“Can I see him?” He asked after a pause.

“You may.” She said with a nod. “As long as you are willing to travel by unconventional means, I can take you to him this very evening.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Unconventional means? That’s how everything is with you, isn’t it? Nothing can just be normal.”

She gave a shrug, her brow arching. “Tis my burden to bear.”


End file.
